


Contradictions

by ambpersand



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Dom Draco Malfoy, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Sub Hermione Granger, a little bit of angst but a lot of porn, hermione looks for help in the bedroom but finds draco instead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29922369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambpersand/pseuds/ambpersand
Summary: When Hermione Granger is presented with a problem, she turns to research. Information, hypotheses, and experiments... These are all things she knows and loves, so it should come as no surprise that when she finds herself with a problem in the bedroom, she knows exactly how to find a solution.And it just so happens that the solution is in the arms of a strong and confident stranger, with hands and lips that know just how to drive her body wild. The only problem? They belong to Draco Malfoy, the one person she should never trust.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 58





	Contradictions

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr @ambpersand, if you so choose.

No. No. This _couldn’t_ be right. Hermione checked the slip of paper in her hand, eyes glancing between the scrawled address and the numbers on the front of the old stone building before her.

 _This_ was the place? Apprehension built in her stomach, eclipsing the curiosity that had been driving her for days. 

It looked more like a dilapidated manor, maybe once majestic before the vines caused the stones to crumble and blacken with dirt, than the place that was supposed to “fulfill her innermost desires.” Or, at least, that’s what the pamphlet said when she first heard of The Scarlet Order. She almost snorted to herself at the name. _The Scarlet Order._ It sounded so pretentious and fake, but after the hours of research she had poured into it… That’s exactly what they were going for. They technically had several different names just to throw off the general public, and that was what sold it for her. 

The anonymity. The security. The trust that she could try this, just once, and never look back when her suspicions were confirmed. 

The woman from The Scarlet Order boasted that they were the most discreet service of their kind. That no one would ever know what she was looking for, and that every precaution was taken to protect the identities of their clients. So much so that as soon as she filled out her profile and sent them her first payment, the sleek black owl had shown up with a red stone pendant within an hour. 

_Follow the directions to the address below, and wear this to your first appointment. It contains magic that has been created for you, and you only, to access our properties. If anyone else places the pendant around their neck, the spell will be rendered useless, and your account will be cancelled._

She held the bottom of that note crumpled in her hand now, and the necklace was heavy around her throat. It seemed impervious to the glamour spell she’d cast on her face earlier in the evening, changing her features into someone that she didn’t recognize. It was the face of a witch she’d seen on a magazine cover in a shop near her flat, and it was classically beautiful. Straight black hair instead of brown curls, sparkling green eyes, a slim nose and perfectly proportioned lips. _Definitely_ appealing to whomever she was set up to meet tonight, and something that wouldn’t give away her true identity. The magic was advanced, but after a few practice tries, she had gotten the hang of it well enough. A polyjuice potion would have been overkill, and the spell gave her more freedom in choosing what she wanted, or needed, to look like. 

The worst part about her aspirations to become the Minister of Magic meant that everything she did, every step she made, could be used against her. And this? This was something that could ruin her career before it even got off the ground. 

It wasn’t until she took a hesitant step forward that the image before her eyes shimmered slightly, shifting until the vines disappeared and the stones looked good as new. The magic radiating from the building in front of her was so strong it was palpable. It filled the air around her, crackling like static until it tickled the hairs of her arms. The necklace grew warm, flashing against her skin with heavy pulses of heat, until everything settled around her once more. Like stepping through a barrier, she’d been granted access. 

_Whoa._ Hermione knew strong magic, but this… This was something else. Casting another look up at the building in front of her, she caught a skewed reflection of her new face in one of the front windows. It taunted her, mocking the silly idea her mind had run wild with over the last few weeks. _Is this really something you’re going to waste your time on?_ the face asked. _This dress up game?_

Familiar frustration boiled up in her stomach. It had been almost 18 months since her relationship ended with Ron, and she wasn’t any closer to finding a solution for her little _problem_ than she had been the day of their tearful breakup. The day he begged and pleaded that it wasn’t a big deal. That they could _work around it_ , he said, as if it was a simple disagreement over a piece of furniture. 

Not that she was completely and utterly dissatisfied with their sex life, or that for the last half of their relationship, her mind would wander any time they were in bed together. _Had she filed that memo at work before leaving for the weekend? Did the rubbish bin need emptied? What about the weekly shopping?_ Like clockwork, she would inevitably start thinking about their grocery list in the midst of sex, despite her attempts to stay focused. 

It wasn’t Ron’s fault, either, which just made it worse. There didn’t seem to be anything he could do to help, no matter what they tried. They were just… incompatible. The same as all her other partners, and she was sick of it. _Something_ had to change. She knew she wasn’t broken, either, because she _could_ feel aroused, and she did. She had a healthy sex drive, but the only time she could stay focused was by herself. Which, by logical conclusion, meant she was missing some key piece with her partners. 

Almost immediately after the breakup with Ron, she’d dived into her research. Different techniques, toys, charms, anything and everything to see what worked and what didn’t. At first, her hypothesis was just to prove that she could still get aroused and enjoy her body. It didn’t take long to confirm. Then, after a few months of her preliminary research to prove she was headed in the right direction, she’d tried dating. Different types of men from different walks of life. There hadn’t been many of them, just a few, but it was enough… Out of the five she went on dates with, three made it to the bedroom. 

And she couldn’t stay aroused with any of them. 

They were nice, really. But they weren’t any the wiser when she forced herself to play up her part, moaning loudly and clenching her legs when she thought it was the “right” time. Then, after, they’d collapse next to her, spent and happy, grinning like they just won the quidditch world cup. 

_“Seemed good for you, yeah?”_

Good, indeed. But only for her research. At the end of her experiment with dating, several things were confirmed. 

One, she had a completely healthy and active sex drive. She was capable of getting and staying aroused, and could orgasm by hand or toy, both muggle and magical. 

Two, she was interested in sex. The problems only started once things got going, and that’s when her mind would wander. 

Three, if her mind wandered, there was no chance of orgasm. 

Which led her to a new research question. What _would_ it take for her to stay focused in bed, with another man? During her experiments at home, by herself, she didn’t waste any time. She was efficient in the way she touched herself, knowing exactly what she needed and how. Was it that she felt the need to direct the men she was with? Or was it that she constantly felt like they were completely disinterested in her pleasure, and focused only on their own? 

Hermione’s research expanded. She found muggle forums online talking about the same things. She found therapists that specialized in all things sex and sexual relationships. She found articles from magazines in the specialty shops, protected by spells to be unseen by children, tucked back in the tight corners between Knockturn and Diagon Alley, where most shoppers didn’t venture. 

They each pointed to one thing: dominance and submission.

It was laughable, really. _Her?_ Hermione Jean Granger, into BDSM? Absolutely not. She’d been beaten, tortured, threatened with death, and then some. She lost friends and loved ones in the war. She knew pain, and it wasn’t pleasurable. In some spots, she still bore the evidence of it. The scars had faded, but they wouldn’t ever go away entirely… So she knew that she held zero desire to be bound up by some stranger, or to dive into the more murky areas of the scene she’d read about online. 

But the longer it went, the more it seemed like the only option left to try. Her experiments all failed, one by one, her hypothesis becoming more and more depressing with every passing week that she couldn’t find a solution. Which is what led her there, in that moment, standing outside The Scarlet Order ready to try the last thing on her list. The one she swore she wasn’t interested in, but Hermione Granger simply did not _give up_. She wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew that she exhausted every single possibility, even if it meant trying dominance and submission. 

If this failed, it meant she was just destined for mediocre sex for the rest of her life. _No,_ she self-corrected. _When_ this failed. As certain as she was that it would be a waste of time, the dedication to seeing her research through meant that she had to finish what she started, just so she could say with confidence that she was right. She _must._

“Miss Jean?” 

A polite voice interrupted her spiral of thoughts, and her attention snapped to the doorway of the manor. A slight man in a formal suit held the door open, white gloves gleaming against the black paint. It only took her a split second to recognize that he used the preferred name she listed on her application, rather than her real one. 

“Ah, yes, sorry,” she apologized quickly, moving toward the door. With a quick glance at her watch, she realized she’d wasted almost ten minutes out on the sidewalk, stuck in her own head. The sun was beginning to set, and any longer outside would mean missing her appointment. And they already made it clear that they did _not_ issue refunds. 

“Please come in,” he took a step back, moving out of the way so she could enter the formal hallway. Once the door was closed behind her, he spoke again. “Tonight we have you scheduled with one of our more experienced clients, based on your profile and intake survey. ” 

_Ahh, the intake survey._ She almost smiled at the memory. It was another thing that sold her on The Scarlet Order--their commitment to research and data to back up their business model. Each client filled out a profile survey every three to six months, indicating their likes, dislikes, interests, and more. At the end, there was a three-page list of sexual escapades that she was expected to rate with her interest levels. Unsurprisingly, many of them were hard zeros. 

“Would you like to make any changes before I show you upstairs?” his knowing look made her cheeks flush hot. _Was her inexperience that obvious?_

Out of the hundred or so items on the list, she had researched every single one. She found videos online of each, and made sure to give every option a thorough review before her answer. A few were tame and expected, even if she wasn’t into things like roleplay or dress up. Some made her stomach turn, like the knife play or the fire wands. Others had just been confusing… But there were a few that made her heart race and her abdomen grow tight. 

“No, thank you,” Hermione forced herself to swallow past the growing tightness in her throat. Although she hadn’t been too anxious during the journey over, now that she was inside, her stomach was beginning to fill with butterflies. It was the same sort of anxiety she used to feel in school before a big exam. A fluttery stomach, tightness in her chest, and a pulse that beat a steady tempo in the tips of her extremities. 

“Right this way, then.” 

With a decisive nod, he began to climb the stairs. Her legs were stiff, but she forced herself to follow without question, up and around the sweeping steps to the second floor. With the classic wood paneling and plush carpet lining the stairs, the manor really did feel like an old, stately home. Tasteful art hung on the walls in gilded frames, but the majority of the paintings were of landscapes or still life, with the flowers and trees rustling in an invisible breeze. _Was_ this someone’s home? Or was it just designed this way to feel as casual as possible? Is that why the man in front of her was dressed as a butler? There were so many other places and services that claimed to cater to the BDSM crowd, but the majority seemed to be set up like bars and private clubs. The Scarlet Order marketed themselves as a private matchmaking service instead, complete with arranged appointments as “dates.” Dates which occurred on their private properties, like this one, hidden on the streets of London. 

When they reached the second floor landing, she continued her observations. Six doors in the same dark-stained wood. Another staircase led to a third floor, but it was roped off. Noticing her curiosity, the man cleared his throat and stepped toward the closest door. 

“You’ve been booked in room four this evening. Each room has a private bath that you may use at your discretion, before, during, or after your appointment. If you need any assistance at all during your stay, there are private summoning charms built into the room intercoms near the door. Whichever staff member is closest will assist you immediately, but no one else in the house will be alerted.”

 _Wow,_ she could feel her eyebrows creeping up in surprise. _They really do value privacy._

“Do you have any questions?” he prompted, but she could only manage a shake of her head. The fast-paced tempo of her heart was only increasing, and her palms grew sweaty. Instead of wiping them on her skirt, she clasped them in front of her hips. _Just breathe,_ Hermione thought to herself. _You’ve done worse, so this should be easy_. Her attempts at calming herself down did nothing to affect the slight tingling in her fingers. No one would want a partner with clammy palms, match-made or not. 

“No,” with her confirmation, the man opened the door and stepped aside. 

“Your partner for this evening has left his instructions on the table. He should be arriving soon.” 

Before she could sputter out a shocked response, he was gone, descending the staircase in quick, silent steps. 

_Instructions._ Whoever this guy was… He left her _instructions._ The tightness in her chest clamped down tighter, and she sucked in a choked breath. Oh Merlin, this was a bad idea. Now, standing in the hallway alone, she regretted everything that led up to this moment. 

_He should be arriving soon,_ the second half of the sentence floated through her mind, prompting her into action. She had two options: go inside and read those instructions, or leave. She didn’t have more time to stand around thinking about what brought her to this moment. 

Before she could succumb to the cold fear that was creeping through her veins, she dashed into the room, shutting the door behind her with a decisive _click._ No time to second guess, no time to run away screaming. _This_ was courage, right? Facing down the unknown? Something that could hurt you, but you had to trust that everything would be okay? 

It had been a long time. 

Closing her eyes, Hermione counted to ten. Each number fell on an inhale, the next, an exhale. _One, two, three…_ By the time she reached ten, her heart had settled by a few paces. When she opened her eyes, she made sure to focus on keeping her breathing steady as she took in the room. 

Like the rest of the manor, the floors were dark stained wood, but a thick carpet with abstract strokes of red and grey sat in the middle of the room. On top of it was a matching set of leather furniture, one long couch and two arm chairs, with a plain wooden table in the middle. To the left sat a large chest, and bookshelves lined the walls. There was a window with the shades drawn, and another door to the right, most likely the bathroom that the man downstairs mentioned. With every breath, Hermione’s heart settled. This wasn’t some dungeon of sin, or a warehouse full of painful implements…. It was just a room. A plain room, filled with books and comfortable furniture. This room could be in any house. 

_Huh._

Before she could get distracted with the books surrounding her, she looked to her side. Just inside the door was a small black table, with a few pieces of parchment sitting atop. The first two were lists, and upon closer inspection, she realized that one of them was hers. Even though the names had been removed, she recognized her scores. Which meant… _Oh._ The second list was _his,_ whoever he must be. As soon as her eyes began to scan through the numbers, her panic began to climb. _Is there anything he_ isn’t _into?_ Each item was marked with some level of interest, and the longer she read, the more anxious she became. A full score for bondage. The same for spanking, paddling, but not whipping. Even though she should be relieved, it couldn’t compare to what the rest of his list held. Voyeurism, exhibitionism, sensory play… he was into all of it. 

Shoving the list out of the way, she kept looking. If she read any further, she would end up giving up on the experiment entirely and running away. _They matched us for a reason,_ she reminded herself. _Unless…_ The idea that it could have been a mistake filtered past her weak attempt at reassurance. Would they have accidentally matched her with someone who was too advanced for her? Someone who would end up hurting her? 

The next set appeared to be copies of test results, both marked with a clean bill of health. One must be hers, then. Hermione remembered consenting to one during her initial meeting, and when she accepted the birth control potion as a condition of her membership with The Scarlet Order. While there were plenty of potions and spells to prevent or treat things like sickness, diseases, and pregnancy, precautions still had to be taken. Clean, discreet, with no strings attached. This is what she wanted… right? 

_Yes,_ she reminded herself, shuffling to the last piece of parchment in the stack. This one was unlike the rest, and contained a neat script, written in flourishing ink that gleamed a dark green when she picked it up to read it closer. 

_In the top drawer of this table is a blindfold. Please put it on and find a seat anywhere in the room you deem comfortable, and I will join you shortly._

She read through his words three times before they fully sank in. _That’s it? That’s the only instruction?_ Deep down, she was expecting the worst. To be told to strip naked and tie herself to the radiator, perhaps. But a blindfold? It almost seemed too easy. Pursing her lips, she pulled open the drawer. As expected, there was a single item inside. A black silk blindfold, with long ties on either side. Running it through her fingers, the fabric felt soft and luxurious, and she couldn’t help but raise it to her lips to feel the cool material slip across her skin. It did nothing to settle her nerves, but it at least gave her something to anchor herself to. Something that was _hers_ in this strange, foreign place. 

_Okay,_ she let out one last nervous breath. _I can do this._ Dropping her wand and purse on the side table, she took a few tentative steps toward the seating area. _Find a seat anywhere in the room you deem comfortable,_ the note said. There were pros and cons to each choice, but she couldn’t let herself get caught up in something that didn’t matter. She couldn’t anticipate what he would like, and it didn’t really make a difference if her back was to the door if she was wearing a blindfold, did it? 

Forcing herself not to overthink it, she took a seat at the edge of the couch. With shaking hands, she lifted the fabric to her face, deciding at the last minute to tie it loose enough that a sliver of light peeked through the bottom edge. 

_There, good enough,_ Hermione let out an unsteady breath. She could still somewhat--

A whisper of noise from the door alerted her that she was no longer alone, followed closely by footsteps entering the room. Holding her breath, she waited for the click of the lock, but only silence remained for several long moments. Finally, it slipped into place with a slight _snick._

“Well,” a deep voice spoke softly behind her, but she didn’t dare move. “If that isn’t a pleasant surprise, I don’t know what would be.” 

_A pleasant surprise?_ Curiosity and apprehension mixed in her stomach, potent and somewhat nauseating. 

“I’m sorry?” the question came out weak and reedy. 

His answer was an amused noise, followed by the shuffle of parchment and a few careful footsteps. His gait was steady, and from the corner of her narrowed sight she spied sleek dragonscale shoes, shined to perfection. “Not many newcomers seem to follow instructions so readily.” 

“Oh,” relief washed through her, warming her cold extremities. 

His foot shifted, then paused. “Oh, indeed… I think I might have spoken too soon. Aren’t you a clever little witch?” 

Before she could ask what he meant, the silk tightened against her eyes, blocking the rest of her view. Embarrassment grew within her chest, blooming up and across the back of her neck. _How had he noticed?_ The question overshadowed her realization that he didn’t even say the spell out loud… Which meant he was an advanced wizard as well. _Hmm._ That was interesting. She had only known a handful of witches and wizards in her life who had been able to accomplish nonverbal magic so easily, and it was something she still struggled with from time to time. 

“And a glamour spell too? Someone came prepared.” 

Something about his tone grated against her already frazzled nerves. Somehow, this stranger, was able to catch on to her so easily. _Too_ easily, and it made her feel more unsettled than she was ready for. 

“I was under the impression that glamour spells were well within the acceptable rules for clients here,” her words came out harsher than she intended, but she didn’t cow herself. Instead she straightened her shoulders and pushed her chin up higher, despite the inky darkness that filled her vision. _Besides,_ she thought with an angry clip, _how could he even tell?_ It was supposed to be practically undetectable. Apparently, her skills weren’t as good as she thought, and that nettled her even further. 

“Indeed they are, but,” his voice dropped an octave, deepening to a smooth, sultry tone as he leaned down to speak closer to her ear. “Fair warning, my dear. Other wizards might not too take kindly to such an adversarial tone from a submissive.” 

Hermione barely muffled the squeak of surprise when she felt his weight sink down onto the couch next to her. Luckily for her, he seemed entertained by her jumpiness, because his only response was another low chuckle. Merlin’s beard, she really was screwing this up, wasn’t she? First she was getting snippy, and now she was jumping at any movement he made? How would she be able to give him a fair shot if she kept going off like one of the Weasley’s joke fireworks? 

“I’ll forgive it just this once, since you’re new. But I am curious…” his voice trailed off, and she caught herself leaning toward the sound. When he didn’t elaborate, she cleared her throat. 

“Curious?” thankfully, her voice sounded more like herself. Steady and confident, even if she didn’t feel it on the inside. 

“What a witch like you is doing in a place like this, using an advanced glamour spell to hide her identity,” the slight rustle of parchment sounded from beside her, as if he was leafing through her list the same way she had done with his. “Please relax, we have a few things to discuss before we can think about getting started.”

“What do you mean _a witch like me_ ?” the sharp question flew to her lips before she could think to stop herself. Some of the things she read had mentioned that some dominants didn’t like their submissives to speak unless they were given express, explicit permission. _Oh, Merlin, please tell me he isn’t one of those types…_

Instead of answering, he waited. Silence grew around them, and she instantly knew that she overstepped her bounds. “I apologize, that was rude of me. This is my first time, so I’m a little nervous.” 

Her apology felt forced on her tongue, but deep down she understood that it was the right thing to do. 

“Exactly,” she could almost _hear_ the way his lips were curling up. He had an attractive voice, and now that she was growing used to the lack of sight, it seemed like her other senses were heightening. The heat of his body was radiating into her skin, so she guessed he couldn’t be more than a few inches away. The subtle notes of his cologne tickled her nostrils, smelling deep and luxurious and _expensive._

“You’re the first witch they’ve matched me with in a long while, despite your inexperience. For some reason, they took a look at you and thought that this would work, regardless of the massive disparity in our interests. When the agency sent me your profile details yesterday, I wasn’t sure it could be correct.” 

Hermione’s heart fell. So this _was_ a mistake. “If you didn’t agree with the match, then why ask me to wear this blindfold? Why even come at all?” 

Her question was quiet between them, showing more of her regret than she had intended. Why was _he_ given the opportunity to see her profile, but she hadn’t been given any information on him in return? There were too many questions burning inside her head, and no time to address them all. 

“Because,” another shuffle of the parchment, and she felt his weight shift forward, then back, like he set them down on the table in front of the couch. “I can’t deny that your answers intrigued me. And just like you wanted your little spell to protect your identity, the blindfold helps me to maintain my privacy _and_ do my job better.” 

_Better, how?_ Before she could voice her next question, she felt a feather light touch run down her upper arm. It felt like the tip of his finger, and he drew lazy circles, chasing goosebumps as they erupted against her skin. She fought to keep from shivering, but when the pad of his finger dipped into her elbow and traced a slow line to the inside of her wrist, she shuddered out a breath. “Like this.” 

She was either touch starved, or the blindfold really was working to his advantage. “Now,” he paused his movements, and her arm jerked involuntarily, seeking more of his touch. Heat flooded through her chest and torso, her skin burning hot under her dress. It was surely evident since the fabric was low cut enough to showcase her collarbones, but stopped well above her cleavage. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. “I think it’s obvious that you’ve got questions of your own, but so do I. So how about a little game of question and reward?”

Oh, he was good. Sly, but good. 

“Okay,” with a heavy swallow, she agreed. This was something she could handle. 

He made a pleased hum, then resumed his light traces on her arm. “Good girl. Since you agreed so easily, I’ll let you have the first question.” 

She wasn’t sure if the pleasure that washed over her was from his compliment, or that she’d made the right move after so many missteps.

“You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” 

He was silent for a long moment, but his finger never stopped moving. The patterns he traced felt like he was weaving a complicated spell, looping around and back over and over again. 

Finally, after he gathered his thoughts, he answered in a serious voice. “I would never do anything you hadn’t explicitly agreed to before coming here. I’m well equated with pain, but I don’t dole it out to those who don’t ask for it,” before she could let out a sigh of relief, he continued. “But you must understand something--pain does not alway equal _hurt._ When I’m given the right kind of trust, it’s possible to use certain techniques to enhance pleasure. What you _think_ might hurt will actually feel good.” 

Her instinct was to stiffen, but his hand drifted back up her arm and skated over the fabric of her sleeve until he was touching the base of her neck. Heat flashed through her body, and she couldn’t help but melt a little farther into the couch. If this was her reward, she’d take it. 

“Your intake form said you were looking to try something new. Why?”

Struggling to keep her breathing steady, Hermione counted a few breaths before answering. She hadn’t been totally honest in her application interview. While she knew that she was on a mission to solve her sexual problems, it seemed too personal of an issue to tell a stranger. So instead she claimed that she was bored and looking to expand her experiences somewhere private and safe. 

“Boredom, I guess.” 

The lie tasted sour on her tongue, but when his fingers stopped their delicate tracing on her collarbone, dread sank like a heavy weight in her abdomen. 

At first, he didn’t speak, but she felt him shifting away. The sudden absence of his body heat felt like a punishment, and she flexed her fingers in her lap to keep from tearing off the blindfold to see where he’d gone. “While I found your penchant for snark endearing, I do not tolerate lying.”

“I’m sorry--” she tried to start, but he cut her off. 

“Nor am I interested in any more of your apologies. They only count if you mean them, darling.” 

_Caught._ So he did know that she wasn’t sorry for snapping at him earlier. Dipping her head, she shifted her weight forward. Without the use of her sight, she felt practically naked. He could see her, but she was isolated and under the spotlight. 

“I--” she had to swallow past the familiar, tight feeling in her throat. “I have trouble focusing in bed.” 

“How?” the word was harsh and direct, but the authority in his tone wasn’t judging. Instead it sent hot shivers down the back of her neck, and she took a steadying breath. 

“By myself I’m fine, but when I’m with someone, I get distracted too easily. I’ve tried everything else, but… Something’s missing.” 

The only noise he made in response was a sharp intake of breath, then a muttered curse. 

“Why lie about something so mundane?” 

“It’s not _mundane--_ ” she snapped, recognizing her mistake one second too late. Slapping her hand over her mouth, she tried to disguise the horror diffusing her features. “I’m sorry--I should go. This isn’t going to work.”

Before she could fully stand, a strong hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged her back down. His palm was wide, but his fingers were long enough that they managed to span her entire wrist and down into her own hand, covering the skin with a confident hold that had her body freezing in place. 

“I know what you need, but you're not going to like it,” after a brief pause, he amended his promise. “Not at first, at least.”

“What do you mean?” everything she read online said that the experience would be _freeing._ But the amount of nerves and tremors that were coursing through her body at that moment felt anything but freeing. 

“I mean,” he tugged her a little closer, testing to see if she would settle in beside his body. It wasn’t until she did that he continued, but she couldn’t help but notice the solid build underneath his clothes. His scent was even stronger now that she was aligned against him, and it was _intoxicating._ “That the most important thing in this room, between us, or anyone doing this, has to be trust. You have to trust me to know what you need and to know how to give it to you.” 

His body against hers felt lithe and strong, not bulky with muscle or soft like some of the men she’d been with, and it was almost distracting enough for her to forget what he’d said. 

“You don’t even know me. How would you know what I need?” 

“Because men like me are directly in tune with the types of needs of witches like you. Clever little witches who try to sneak glances and ask too many questions because they’re afraid to give up control. I specialize in seizing that control, so that _you_ can let go.” 

When her cheeks heated with an embarrassed blush, he chuckled. “I’m going to guess that the wizards you’ve been with have let you take the reins, eh?” when she didn’t answer, he made a _tsk_ noise with his tongue. “You keep getting distracted because those prats are too busy chasing their own pleasure to keep you satisfied.” 

“I enjoy it just fine--” his fingers pressed into her lips before she could come up with a fabricated excuse about how it wasn’t “that bad.” But they both knew it was. She wouldn’t be there if that wasn’t the case, would she?

“And that’s why you’ve gotten to this point, isn’t it? You keep making excuses for them, rather than letting yourself give in with someone who wants to take care of you.” 

“I--” was it? Was that it? Her research _had_ shown her that her libido wasn’t the problem, after all. “I don’t know. It could be.”

“Well then, I’m glad we agree,” his arm tightened around her body like an immobulus hold. “And in that case, we’ve got two orders of business to attend to. Do you agree to give it a shot? Or would you like to leave and go back to your boring dates?”

Merlin, he was cocky, wasn’t he? Twenty minutes together and he was already convinced that he knew exactly what she would like? Unlikely. However, deep down, there _was_ something oddly appealing about his confidence. It wasn’t a false bravado, but rather, something that emanated from deep down inside of him. It was a _part_ of him, she could tell, and it was as appealing as it was unsettling. 

Taking a deep breath, she steeled her fluttering nerves. “If I say yes, what happens?” 

His answer was another laugh, and she felt his fingers trace back up her neck until his hand locked her jaw into position. It was a silent command. _He_ was in control. _He_ called the shots, and she would follow his lead. 

A hot thrill flashed through her system, heady and exciting. 

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out. Your curiosity will be sated soon enough, little witch.” 

A moment passed before she found the strength to nod. Giving up control didn’t come easy to her, and it never had. Which, by her own admission of research, made sense. 

“Okay. Yes.” 

His hold on her jaw shifted until his fingers cradled her face, his thumb tracing lightly over the outline of her lips. She had almost forgotten about her glamour until his husky whisper. 

“What I wouldn’t do to see your real features under all this magic. But it might be for the best, given how we’re about to get started. I do apologize in advance, darling. It will be over quickly.” 

“Wait--” stiffening, she tried to push against his chest but he held her in place so she couldn’t pull away. “What? No--” 

“Stop,” his command was firm, and she forced her body to still. “Not only were you very cross with me, but you lied. I told you I don’t take kindly to lying, and if I allow it, it sets a… distasteful precedent for our relationship, don’t you think?” 

Unfortunately, he was correct. She had been adversarial, and she couldn’t even be honest when he asked her a simple question. How was she supposed to finalize her research if she wasn’t being truthful with the experiment? _Bollocks._ She couldn’t speak past the sudden dryness in her mouth, so she gave him a shaky nod instead. 

“Since your survey said no bondage, I’ll allow you to keep your hands clasped above your head. But if you move them in any way, I will stop immediately. Understood?” 

A sweet wave of relief washed over her. “Yes. Thank you.” 

She could almost hear the grin in his voice. “You’re catching on so quickly,” his weight beside her shifted, then strong hands were guiding her body across his laps. “Now lay face down, and keep your hands above your head. There’s a noise dampening charm on the room, so you may make as much noise as you please, but I’d like for you to keep count.”

 _Keep count?_ What did-- _oh no._ As soon as she was situated, stomach across his lap, she felt the telltale sweep of his hand against the backs of her bare thighs. She’d seen this in the videos online, when women would be swatted until their backsides were bright red and they were keening for more. 

A heavy flush settled against her skin, and he hadn’t even started yet. She couldn’t tell if it was apprehension or excitement, but the nervousness was strong enough to make her hands tremble. 

“I would ask if you’ve ever been spanked before, but I think I might know the answer already,” his fingers swept higher, dipping under the hem of her skirt until the tips of his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin below her ass. 

“No,” she swallowed, unwilling to lie again. His ministrations on her legs were so delicate and subtle that it felt like every nerve ending below her waist was flaring to life. Awakening her body in smooth, easy strokes, she felt every bit of his skin against hers and as much as it surprised her, heat began to build in her core. Her body was at war, somehow excited and anxious at the same time, mixing together into a palpable sensation that had her feeling like she’d taken several Redi-Wake draughts like she used to when staying up all night for her exams. 

“Thank you for being honest. If you do well, I promise I’ll make it up to you after. How does five sound? Do you think you can handle that?”

She could only manage another shaky nod once she felt him expose her backside to the cool air. Her hands were tucked into the edge of the cushion above her head, and she knotted her fingers together for good measure. Five wasn’t too bad, was it? Five quick swats, and it would be time for the good stuff. 

_It wasn’t like I didn't earn the punishment,_ she thought to herself with a grimace. _Way to go, Hermione. Screw up your BDSM experience before you can even get--_

His hand came down heavy on her backside, his palm hitting the sensitive skin right between her ass and thigh. The same spot that he had just been attending to with light brushes of his fingers. 

“Oh!” the sound squeaked out of her chest before she could stop herself, and her body immediately stiffened. It stung, but it wasn’t too bad. 

“Count, please,” he reminded her gently, sweeping his palm over the slight burn that his hand left behind. 

Her voice was choked. “One.” 

Another rained down, this time on the opposite side. “Two,” when she held her breath, he soothed the burn again. 

The third and fourth hits were higher, settling on the soft, fleshy parts of her cheeks beside the seam of her knickers. He didn’t touch them to move the fabric out of the way, but he made sure she felt the sting of his hand with each swat. Had she known she would be ending up with her ass in the air before they’d even kissed, she might have picked a sexier pair instead of the plain black bikini style she favored from the muggle shops. “Three. Four.” 

By now, her entire rear was on fire. The blood in her system was pooling in her pelvis and around her hips, rushing to the areas that were surely blushing as red as her chest and face were right now. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but he paused, running both of his hands in sweeping motions, pressing into her skin until the coolness of his touch soothed the pain away. 

“You’re doing so good, darling. Can you take one more?” 

Hermione forced herself to nod, digging her head further into the cushion so he couldn’t see her face. The strange sensation of the spanking was confusing the rest of her body. It didn’t feel _good,_ per se, but the rush of blood after each hit was sending more waves of heat to her core, almost like it didn’t know better. 

“Yes,” when she finally managed a breathy response, his hands stilled. Shifting her with one knee underneath her pelvis, he tilted her backside even higher in the air, and used one hand to spread her thighs open a few inches. 

“Good Girl. Now breathe…” he waited until he saw her chest expand on an inhale to strike, but this time he didn’t go for the soft, fleshy parts of her butt or thighs. He went right for her core. He didn’t hold back, putting more force behind the final swat since the sting of it was muted by the fabric stretched across her lower lips. But the impact was there all the same, and a rough moan let loose from her chest before she could think to stop it. It was right over her clit, which was sensitive from the increased blood flow already, and the shock sent her eyes rolling back. A wave of arousal rushed through her system, hot and heady in the mix of the pain he just dealt. 

“Five,” the last number was barely more than a shaky exhale, as his hands resumed their sweeping motions. 

“I’m very proud of you. Was that so bad?” he squeezed her thighs lightly, sending light shocks of sensation through her core. Everything felt swollen and sensitive, and when she shifted on his lap, she froze. 

She was _wet._

“I guess not,” he chuckled, still not stopping. “Tell me again what it was I told you earlier.” 

It didn’t take a genius to know what he was talking about, but somehow, she knew if she didn’t answer, he would stop touching her. All she knew was in that moment, that was the _last_ thing she wanted. She would take more swats if it meant more of that exquisite heat that was building between her legs. 

“Pain…” she started, panting heavily. “Doesn’t always have to hurt.” 

“And did it hurt?” his fingers toyed with the edge of her knickers, but he didn’t dip underneath, not even when she wiggled closer. It felt shameless, but the pressure building in her core was undeniable. She _never_ got this turned on, not even by herself. 

Another shaky breath, and some of the fog cleared from her mind. “Only a little. But.. Now it feels good.” 

And it did, truly. More than she ever could have thought possible. If he weren’t there, holding her legs in place, she would have already pressed her fingers to the spot right above her clit to relieve some of the building ache. 

“Then I think you’re ready for your reward, don’t you?” 

This time, he didn’t wait for her response. Instead, he used one hand to keep her in position and delved the other under the seam of her underwear, pushing the fabric aside until she was exposed. _Oh, Merlin…_ She was wet enough that the cool air around her felt like an icy kiss against her pussy. Heat built against her cheeks, but she was too worked up to be fully embarrassed. Besides, this is what she was there for, right? This is what he knew would happen, even though she had been adamant it wouldn’t? She might be inexperienced in the world of kink, but she wasn’t demure. 

“Well, well, well,” he didn’t laugh, but the amusement in his voice was evident. It was more than that, though… It was strained, and serious, and she could tell that he was taking in the sight of her glistening folds, presented on his lap like a feast. “I think you might have learned something about yourself tonight, don’t you think?” 

She couldn’t take it any more. Shifting her hips, she angled herself up even more, trying to work some kind of friction between her thighs, but in doing so, it made one thing clear. Underneath her, pressing against the front of her thighs, was a thick erection. 

_Oh._

So this is what he liked, then. The knowledge that he was just as turned on as she was made her feel even more empowered, and she squeezed her thighs together. When she did, his hand tightened around her thigh. 

“You little minx. I see what you’re doing,” he gave her a quick, light swat on her left cheek that made her cry out. It wasn’t nearly as hard as the others, but it was a warning. “Do you like feeling my eyes on you? Do you like knowing that the sight of this--” he lightly traced her opening, but didn’t dip his finger in, “--has me desperate for a taste?” 

“Yes,” the admission was barely more than a whisper, but the way his grip tightened on her said more than any response he could have said aloud. 

When he delicately touched her center, she almost missed his muttered words. He traced the same tantalizing patterns, up and down, back around and over again, repeating until she was mindless and writhing on his lap. 

“I guess they do know a thing or two about matches…” 

She had a feeling they were more for himself than they were for her, but it sent satisfaction coursing through her veins. Careful not to move her hands from their spot, she arched her back, desperate for something. Some kind of touch, or friction, or relief. The building ache was turning painful, and she didn’t know how much longer she could tolerate it without taking care of things herself. 

“Please, I need more.”

“Do you?” his voice was sharp. “Is this where you usually take over and tell your dates how you like to be touched? Or is this where _I_ decide what you need?” 

“You,” she agreed quickly, nodding her assent. “You, please. I’ll do whatever you want.” 

At this point, she would do anything he asked if that meant getting those long fingers inside of her. She didn’t care if they didn’t have sex--she just needed more, and more from _him_ only. Whatever he wanted, because he was right--in this moment, in this room, she trusted him to know exactly what she needed most. How easily he had proved it, with just a few swats of his hand. 

Later, she would be embarrassed. She would lay in her bed and burn red with the shame that she pushed her hips higher to chase his touch, that she tilted her center toward his fingers in a desperate attempt to fill the painful emptiness between her legs. 

“What if I wanted to do this again?” he gave her another light smack, and she felt the way her flesh rippled with the impact. The sting quickly morphed into more heat, more wetness, and she let out a keening moan. 

“Oh, Merlin…” 

“You should be saying _my_ name. I’m the one making you feel this way,” he reminded her, smacking the other side with equal, but light force. These weren’t punishing blows--they were just light enough to keep the heat building underneath her skin, but stiff enough to send a light sting rippling across her backside. A heavy hand followed, lathing the sting with his palm against her hot skin. It felt like she was burning _everywhere,_ and when his fingers dipped back between her thighs, she thought she might scream.

“Tell me what I should do,” she begged, writhing underneath his hold. She would say his name, if she knew it. She would chant it loud enough that people on the street would be able to hear her, even through the noise dampening spell. “Please, just tell me.” 

Finally, he gave in, slipping a finger into her folds. It met no resistance, sinking in past the knuckle, and she almost fell apart at the sensation. Grinding the words through his teeth, he shifted his hips underneath her. “So hot and responsive. It’s like you were made for me.”

“Oh, oh--” pushing her hips back, she met his slow thrusts with heavy breaths. It didn’t take long for him to add a second finger, stretching her tighter as he worked her. The tips of his fingers easily found the sensitive spot at the front of her pelvis, and she bucked when he began to rub tight circles right where the bundle of nerves sat. She didn’t have the mind to tell him that she wasn’t usually this responsive, or this animated in bed. She’d _never_ fucked herself against a guy’s hand, never been so desperate for release that she felt like she would sob if he stopped. Whether it was the spanking, or his confidence, or the expert ease that he managed her body, she didn’t know. But she would scream like a banshee before she ever let him stop. 

After a particularly loud moan, his thumb slipped forward, easily finding her clit. He didn’t immediately go for it, but instead rubbed around it, teasing her further. It was _so_ close, but not close enough. She knew she couldn’t get off without it, and she let out a frustrated groan when he slipped up and around the nub over and over again. 

She had to do something, but if she moved her hands at all, he would stop. He promised her that much, and she believed him. If she asked him directly, he would accuse her of trying to take control. That would go over about as well as a lead balloon. 

_Come on,_ she tried to change the pace but he stilled, immediately catching on. 

“You’re thinking, aren’t you?” 

“Umm--” she barely had time to find the right answer before he withdrew his hand and gripped her waist, pulling her body upright in one strong move. The sudden motion set her head spinning, and her hands latched on to his body of their own accord, acting in self preservation by grabbing at his shoulders. She felt thin fabric underneath her fingers, incredibly smooth, but not silky. Definitely expensive, whatever it was. 

“Tell me,” pulling her hips down over his lap with a strong grip, she had no choice but to straddle him. When she was settled, one hand stayed on her waist and the other traveled up to her the nape of her neck to grip her hair. “What were you thinking about?”

Hermione’s breaths were coming in shallow pants, and the feeling of his chest pressed against her torso was almost too much to take. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands over the planes of his body and learn him the way he was doing to her. Was he lean and muscular under his expensive tailoring? Did he have chest hair? What would he feel like if she raked her nails across his chest?

“Answer me,” he prompted, leaning forward to drag his lips up her neck. He nibbled lightly at the spot below her jaw, and she felt the way his lips curved into a sly smile when she gasped at the sensation. 

“I needed…” she panted, struggling not to grind down on the erection that was pressing between her legs. If she did, she’d be sure to stain his pants. “More. I can’t come without you touching my clit directly.” 

The confession felt stiff and forced, but it was true. But instead of pulling away, he rewarded her with a soft nip to her earlobe. “And you thought I wasn’t getting there?” 

“I’ve never--” another heavy pant, this time because the hand that had been anchoring her hip down was now traveling lower, back toward the place she wanted him the most. “I’ve never been this turned on.”

The truth was flowing easier now, and maybe it was better that he had blindfolded her after all. It made it easier to not focus on the outside world, to not scrutinize his reactions or try to catalogue what she should be doing or saying differently. He’d taken the responsibility of it all right out of her hands, and forced herself to only think about her own pleasure. 

_This is what I’ve been missing?_

His smile grew against her throat, and he began kissing and suckling a path down her neck. He wasn’t gentle, and there would definitely be marks in the morning, but she didn’t care. She’d buy an entire case of concealing tinctures on her way home tonight, but she wanted the evidence to herself. “Isn’t that the point?” 

When his fingers reached her core, her body shuddered against his. “Yes,” she moaned, sighing in relief when he pushed back inside to resume his ministrations. He didn’t waste time working back up to it, instead going right back to where he left off, but this time he didn’t tease her clit. His thumb found it, pressing down and sweeping the sensitive bud back and forth in tandem with his middle and ring fingers. 

A wave of pleasure hit her, so strong she felt her insides clamp down on his hand. “Yes,” she chanted as she worked her hips, feeling the way her dress was bunched up around her hips. He was still fully clothed, but it made the mental image painted in her head even more indecent. They could be anyone, anywhere, fooling around together in secret. Keeping their clothes on because they have to make a quick getaway, or because they can’t afford to be caught. A torrid affair between two star crossed lovers, so desperate for each other that they couldn’t waste time disrobing. 

As if he could read her mind, his fingers released her hair and traveled down her neck and around to her chest, settling right underneath the swell of her breast. With a hook of his fingers, he rubbed the sensitive spot inside her hips in tandem with her clit, driving slow circles that made her thighs shake. Her entire body went tense, and he growled in her ear. 

“You have no idea how much I want to rip this prim little dress off your body with my teeth, just to see what you have on underneath. You look so proper and good, but you’re absolutely filthy, aren’t you? You love what I’m doing to you, and you can’t get enough.” 

“I do,” she nodded, trying to keep her hips steady, but the pressure was building. Her legs were beginning to strain, and the telltale coil of pleasure was growing tighter and tighter with each passing stroke. “Please, don’t stop…” 

He kept on, sucking and biting at her ears, her neck, her jaw. “Do you know how much you’re driving me crazy? I can smell your arousal and it’s making my mouth water. Next time we meet, I plan on stripping you naked and laying you out on the table like a feast.” 

_Was she?_ His erection was still pressing against her inner thigh, but he hadn’t given her permission to touch him yet, and something told her that she couldn’t just do whatever she wanted. 

“Can I--” the question was interrupted by a sudden wave of pleasure, shuddering through her body when he thrust his fingers with renewed force. “Can I touch you?”

“Not yet,” the answer was firm, but he didn’t stop his motions. “Only if you’re a good little witch and come all over my hand. Can you do that?” 

Her thighs clenched of their own accord, and she nodded. The trembling in her pelvis was growing stronger, and her movements were turning jerky. He found a steady rhythm that kept her senses overwhelmed, like little figure-eights right on her clit, and it was driving her _mad._ Working in tandem with his fingers, every few thrusts he would reach in further to rub at her g-spot, and she could feel the sweat beginning to bead on her chest. She couldn’t hold out much longer, but she remembered one thing from her research, right in the knick of time. 

“Can I please come?” the throaty voice barely sounded like her, but she was ready to beg if she had to. Her core was growing tighter by the second, spasming in warning, and she wasn’t sure if she could hold out. The picture he had painted, of her laying across a table while he worked his way down her body with his mouth, was almost too much to imagine. If he was this talented with his fingers, his mouth was bound to be even better. 

He bit down on the column of her neck, thrusting up with his pelvis to grind his cock into her. “Come, good girl. Come for me and show me how much you love it.” 

The feeling of it pressing into her bare flesh, right underneath his hand, was enough to send her over the edge. “Oh, oh, oh--” her whole body seized, and she fell forward into him, writhing and bucking as the pleasure spread into her limbs like a tidal wave, white hot and sparking against her nerve endings. She let go, basking in the feel of it, more than anything she had ever experienced before. More intense, more blinding, until it felt like she was consumed by it entirely. It pulsed, on and on, as she ground down on his hand. Through the roar of blood in her ears, she could hear herself babbling incoherently, sobbing her relief as he chased every ripple of pleasure her body had to give. 

When it was over, her body went limp, still numb from the pleasure and the full experience. They were both breathing heavily, but after a moment, she felt his body stiffen underneath hers. 

“... Granger?” the word was choked, and cold realization filled her veins, sobering her immediately. 

_Shit,_ the intensity of her orgasm must have been enough to dissipate any residual energy from glamour spell, which meant… _Oh, no--_ dread and horror filled her stomach immediately, and there was only one person in the world who said her name the way the man underneath her just did. 

Draco Malfoy. 

_Oh, Merlin, no--please, please no--_ the light of the room was blinding when she ripped off the black silk from her eyes, but as soon as they were open, they came to meet an icy grey pair, just inches away. 

The same icy grey that had taunted her for years. Called her names, bullied her friends, watched as his aunt tortured her in his own home. The same man who was too much of a coward to stand up for what was right during the war, who had contributed to some of the worst pain she’d ever experienced in her life, had just brought her to the strongest orgasm she couldn’t have dreamed of. 

“I think I’m going to be sick--” she scrambled off his lap as fast as she could, stumbling toward the door. Bile was inching up her throat, hot and sour, and she needed to leave _now._

“Granger, please--” he stood to follow, but she tripped on the rug, legs still weak, but held her hand out as she caught herself. “Please sit down. We need to talk--”

“No!” once her feet were steady, she held a finger out towards him. “There is _nothing_ we need to talk about, Malfoy. You disgusting little cockroach--you’re still getting off on being a bully, but now you do it in the bedroom?” 

She spat the words at him, her hands shaking at her sides. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she wouldn’t give in. Her entire body felt hot and flushed, and her stomach rolled when she took in the sight of his body. The same one she was just desperate to feel up, that she didn’t realize was one of her worst enemies. It had been years since they’d seen each other last, and since then, he’d held the same lean strength he had in school. But now his shoulders were a little wider, his jaw a little more prominent. But how--she had to choke back a sob, holding the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from retching-- _how had she not realized?_

“That’s not it at all,” his voice turned to cold steel. “You don’t understand. Please sit down, you’re not in any condition to apparate until you calm down.” 

With a choked laugh, she snatched up her things. “I understand just fine, _Malfoy._ Now that the war’s over, you’ve got to find a way to inflict pain on people, and what better way to do it than by degrading women.” 

“That’s not what this is about,” he took a step closer, putting his hands up. “I told you that wasn’t it, and I meant it. Now please--” 

His next plea was cut off as she aparated home, landing in the middle of her living room, the disgusted tears already tracking down her cheeks. 


End file.
